Closing the Rift
by Stella Artois
Summary: A sort of Pride and Prejudice-esque version of Harry Potter. Involving Animagus and drunken Gryffindors. SLASH.
1. DracoEnter the Dragon

Closing the Rift

Closing the Rift

Disclaimer: WARNING! This story is slash! If you don't like it, go away! Also, I do not own a bloody thing. So don't sue me. Harry Potter belongs to the almighty goddess J.K. Rowling.

Ch.1: Draco- Enter the Dragon

Sometimes two people, who have the potential to be the very best of friends, through one cause or another, simply miss each other. In the drifting world of particle physics, some particles collide and join together, whereas others simply bounce off one another, sailing into other hemispheres to eventually join with others. Occasionally, if there is inclination on both sides, the two will amend whatever differences they had to form another union, but far more often, the rifts that separate people are far too deep to surmount.

Such was the case with Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. The first year that Harry arrived at Hogwarts, and Draco held the hand of friendship out to him, and was subsequently rebuffed, set the tone for their entire relationship. The two boys had met, collided, and subsequently parted. But in the very act of collision, each had left an indelible mark on the other, like cars colliding.

Draco, in his lonelier moments, thought often about the marks that Harry had left on him, and wondered, after their first meeting, what exactly had gone wrong. His arrogance and prejudices, so apparent and detestable to Harry, did not even occur to Draco to be seen as repugnant. When one has been brought up on the food of coldness and snobbery, as Draco had, one does not recognize it as others do.

Draco truly believed in the truthfulness of everything he had said when they had met. The Weasleys and Hagrid were riffraff, capable of exciting nothing more than contempt in a well-bred person.

The Weasleys produced offspring like rabbits, were ill-mannered and poor, not even having the sense to realize that they would be better off if they had less children.

And Hagrid, (what wasn't wrong with that oaf?) got drunk, set fire to his bed and bred disgusting, viscous beasts.

Then there was that insufferable mudblood, Granger, who bore a striking resemblance to a demented beaver, and who time and again, outshone him in every class, much to his father's scorn.

If only Potter had the sense to extricate himself from that group of freaks, he could have been associating with the best.

Draco had actually longed to be friends with that bloody git. His parents had told him from the beginning that he must work to distance himself from the saviour of the wizarding world, and Draco himself, learning that one of the most powerful wizards of the age was to be his classmate, was eager to form a companion of, 'the Chose One'. What power, what glory lay in associating with a boy already famous and destined to become legend. And yet, inexplicably, he had been rejected by the very person he had so longed to meet. And with what coldness! How was he to know that in the course of one train ride, Harry Potter would form such an attachment to a gangling, dirty- nosed, cretin? Draco had enough sensitivity to realize that the reception his overtures had received would never cool into anything resembling friendship.

So perhaps it was only natural that Draco should attack with the weapons of wounded pride, the person he had earnestly desired to befriend. It is easy to disguise pain with anger, and Draco very often took the easy way out. The two boys from that point on matched wound for wound, and a rift the was wide to begin with grew stedily wider as the years went on.


	2. HarryEnter the Lion

Ch.2: Harry- Enter the Lion (Or the kitty)  
  
Hello all! I got my first ever review! I'm so excited. Plus, she said she liked it! Thank you to Velven, you get a cookie! I'm also sorry the first chapter was so short. I'm going to try to make this one longer (keyword, try). !  
  
More than anything in the world, Harry Potter wanted to be an animagus. The very concept that he could have the opportunity to change into an animal, nay, any animal was so alluring that it could almost be called seductive. The idea that for once, in all his years at Hogwarts, that he could be unrecognizable to all the hero- worshippers (especially those confounded Creevey boys), all the hangers-on, all the wannabe death eaters was incredible. But more than all that, Harry Potter wanted something that would bring him just a little closer to his father, James Potter.  
  
So he did something that he only did every so often, and only with Hermione's prodding and nagging. He ventured into madam Pince's fiercely protected lair, the library. A name that struck fear into the hearts of Weasley's everywhere (except maybe Percy).  
  
After hurrying past Madam Pince's suspicious glare, (Potter could only be up to no good coming in here by himself, she thought) Harry seated himself in a shadowy corner and begin the process of finding every book that had ever been written on becoming an animagus.  
  
An hour later Harry was flipping through an enormous tome, "The Art of the Animagus Transformation," he was feeling every so slightly swamped, and ten books later, he had the distinct impression that he was getting nowhere fast. There were enough books in his little cubby to build another, albeit smaller, Hogwarts.  
  
And then, just when hope was only a distant twinkle in the heavens, his bushy-haired, buck-toothed saviour appeared.  
  
"Harry!" Hermione squealed in delight, "you're in the library!"  
  
Harry didn't think he had ever been happier to see Hermione. What a perfect way out of this mess. Hermione could find anything in a twinkling and sort out all the neccesary information.  
  
"Hermione", Harry said, his desperation showing in his voice, "I need some help."  
  
Hermione Granger had always loved Harry, maybe even more than she loved Ron. With Ron, there always seemed to be a little bit of tension between that two, a tension that had orginated in fourth year at the end of the Yule Ball. Hermione knew, even if Ron didn't that his feelings toward her were not precisely platonic. He ahd been fiercly jealous of Viktor Krum, and that made Hermione feel uncomfortable, especially when she was alone with him. With Harry, there had never been that awkwardness. Harry had this lovable little-boy charm that made some girls swoon, others baby him, and still others despise him. Lately, however, Harry had seemed to have aged prematurely since Sirius's death. He smiled rarely and laughed not at all. He lapsed into long silences that worried Hermione and often kept her up into the wee hours of the morning, thinking about how she could possibly comfort him. Whenever she tried, he would push her away sying, 'it's okay 'Mione, I'm alright', and when she looked into his eyes she knew that he wasn't okay, not really.  
  
That was why Hermion studied his eyes so carefully when she neared his table. He seemed happy, and the very fact that her appearance was the cause of his happiness made her heart leap.  
  
"Oh, Harry," she said, with a moist smile,"you're hopeless."   
  
Ron Weasley was getting plastered. He knew he shouldn't, and he knew just as well what Hermione would say if she ever found out. Bet after downing five shots of Ogdens Old Firewhisky, Ron wasn't really certain he gave a damn anymore.  
  
He was quaffing his sixth shot when someone slid into the seat across from him in his booth. Ron stared stupidly at the Slytherin badge across from him.  
  
"Ronald Weasley," the badge said, in an almost insolent fashion,"I'm shocked at you. I thought only Slytherins went out drinking."  
  
Ron shook his head dully. Badge...talk?  
  
"Drowning your sorrows?" Tha badge asked.  
  
"Something like that." Ron's voice slurred.  
  
And what would a fine, young Weasley like yourself have to get drunk about?"  
  
"Life sucks."  
  
"How eloquent," the badge said mockingly, "Didn't your enlightened mother ever tell you that drunkeness is unbecoming? No I suppose not."  
  
"My mother," Ron snorted in derision, "My mother thinks I'm a little boy. She probably is under the impression that I don't even know wht alcohol is, let alone know that I'm getting drunk."  
  
"You poor thing."  
  
"I didn't know that badges could talk..."  
  
A strong hand came up under his chin, forcing his head up.  
  
"Badges can't talk, but I can."  
  
He found himself looking into the wickedly sparkling eyes of Slytherin prefect, Blaise Zabini.  
  
Ron stared.  
  
"You're really shit-faced aren't you?"  
  
"Uhhhh...."  
  
"I see, my Slytherin-ness has leeched your brains. How unfortunate."  
  
"I guess I'm just startled that I would ever have the opprotunity to talk to a Slytherin." Ron shook his fiery head in drunken puzzlement.  
  
"My dear boy! Slytherins and Gryffindors were made for each other! They just hate each other too much to see that."  
  
Blaise's voice lowered to a whisper, as he leaned forward, his sweet- smelling breath nudging the hair on Rons forehead, "But I'm not wilfully blind." He got up then, dragging Ron with him. "Come along, Weasley, so I can show you just how well Slytherins and Gryffindors get along."  
  
And Ron found that he didn't even remotely mid when Blaise lead him back into the castle. And he didn't worry one bit when Blaise slammed him up against the wall of the prefects bathroom and kissed him hard enough to bruise. And after that? Who knew?  
  
God, I can't seem to make these any longer. SIGH You'll have to bear with me. Oh yeah, by the way, this story was my orginal idea. I did not borrow off of Alchemia Dent and Bugland's Bittersweet Potion and the sequel Procul His, they are very good though and I would definatly recommend them. Until next time, cheers! Oh, by the way, I don't know anything about alcohol so don't falme me or kill me in my sleep. My mother will miss me. 


End file.
